


Reasonable Men

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Blackmail, Forced Prostitution, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Small Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 09:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15116852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: “Now you’ll be good for me,” Thénardier murmured tenderly, “won’t you?”





	Reasonable Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwelveLeagues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveLeagues/gifts).



Valjean had retired to his bed in the inn of Montfermeil shortly after midnight. Despite the long journey, he had not been tired, but little by little, a creeping exhaustion had taken hold of his limbs. Now, his heart beating sluggishly in his chest, skipping a beat every now and then to jar him into a strange, drowsy breathlessness, he found that it had become hard to move. He had not snuffed out the candle; when he blinked tiredly, he could see shadows play against the dirty wall.

It was becoming harder to breathe. There was a strange pressure on his chest, as if someone invisible was weighing him down. He tried to lift a hand to push the weight off; his arm would not move. Valjean took note of that astonishing fact with weary surprise.

The room was very quiet. It was difficult to stay focused. His eyelids were heavy; he could not hold them open. Tiredly, he blinked, still struggling to keep hold of his focus like a man who was drowning—and then he must have fallen asleep after all, for when he opened his eyes again, it had grown. The candle had burned out, but there was still a strange light that filled the room.

He could not move to see where the light was coming from. Helplessly, he tried to turn his head, but his muscles would not obey him. Again he blinked, and when his eyes focused again, there were blurry shadows bending over him, and he trembled at the touch of hands on his naked body.

“There, see, as I told you. Our Rothchild is a convict. I know those marks on his body. “

Another hoarse voice chuckled, and Valjean’s heart shuddered in his breast when someone touched his genitals.

“Built like an ox, but look at that. It’s no larger than my thumb.”

Rough laughter followed, and the murmur of more than just two people.

Then fingers grabbed hold of his shaft, pulling it this way and that. “Why, it isn’t,” the voice of the inn-keeper said with menacing satisfaction. A thumb jabbed into his scrotum, and Valjean heard a distant gasp of agony. Was that his own voice?

“The money of Rothchild, the prick of a dwarf. But never mind. I’ll have my money out of you tonight, Monsieur Philanthropist.”

His heartbeat roaring in his ears, Valjean struggled to draw in a breath when he felt hands pull his defenseless limbs this way and that, until his body was spread out and arranged to the shades’ satisfaction.

“His hair’s white and his prick’s no bigger than my little finger,” Thénardier murmured, “but it’ll make no difference once you’re between his thighs. A man with a thousand franc bill, I bet his arse is tighter than any whore you’ve ever had.”

In terror, Valjean watched as the shadows above him shifted. Then there was a hand between his legs, and Thénardier let out a crowing laugh of glee. “He feels tight,” he said, his fingertip circling and then forcefully penetrating, Valjean silently gasping for breath at the burn. “No one’s ever made use of your hole before, monsieur?”

At Valjean’s confused silence, more mocking laughter followed. “Well, we’re reasonable men, all of us,” Thénardier said with caressing possessiveness. “You’ll leave my house an experienced man; yes, I’ll show you what a real man uses his prick for. And then we’ll have no more of your insolence. Give me that lamp oil, Boulatruelle.”

No matter how Valjean struggled, he could not move a single finger as he listened to the rustling of clothes. Half a minute later, Thénardier moved over him again, his breath hot against Valjean’s throat while a different, hot presence brushed against his thigh.

“Now you’ll be good for me,” Thénardier murmured tenderly, “won’t you?”

Valjean could not even produce a sound, but Thénardier did not wait for an answer. He moved forward, pushing Valjean’s thighs further apart—and then his prick pressed in, forcefully opening up Valjean.

“Yes, that’s good,” Thénardier grunted, “that’s how I like you.”

Trembling, utterly helpless, Valjean could only rest on the bed, suffering through the violation as Thénardier’s hard member slowly pushed deeper inside. No matter how much his body fought, the inn-keeper had used enough oil to force his way in with ease, and when Valjean’s aching muscle clenched around him, he groaned in appreciation.

“There, I knew you’d like that,” he said with fond condescension. “You can still teach an old dog a new trick, eh?”

“Hurry up,” the man whom he’d called Boulatruelle demanded hoarsely. “I want a turn as well.”

“You wait until I’m done.” Thénardier possessively grasped hold of Valjean’s member. “We have all night. Scraping and bowing all day… but it’s not me who’s moaning now, eh? You like that? I knew you’d like to feel my prick.”

Sickened, Valjean realized that the distant moaning echoing in his ears was indeed his own. Despite the ache of having been stretched open so impossibly wide, there was something horrifyingly pleasurable about the way Thénardier’s large erection pushed in and out of him. Then Thénardier’s finger slid up and down his shaft in a mocking caress, Thénardier’s laughter hot against his ear, and sick with shame, Valjean realized that his shaft was hard in Thénardier’s hand.

“It’s not much, is it?” Thénardier murmured derisively into Valjean’s ear, his hips coming forward to let Valjean feel the full length of his own, sizable shaft. “Such a shy little thing, monsieur’s prick. So small it wants to hide away in my hand. Monsieur surely doesn’t do any fucking with it?”

His face burning, Valjean found that he was still moaning uncontrollably when Thénardier’s thumb slid around the crown of his shaft, Valjean’s prick pulsing with horrifying eagerness for more of that tantalizing touch. Again Thénardier thrust into him, his thrusts growing rougher, yet the penetration still just as pleasurable as Valjean’s body burned at the pressure within him.

“No, I don’t think Monsieur Philanthropist has ever done any fucking. Honored to be the first, monsieur.” Thénardier’s voice was dripping with glee. “That little prick is so happy to be touched; why, I think it knows how happy your hole is going to make us tonight. Won’t be so tight anymore by the end of the night, but I’m sure monsieur will still moan as prettily as a whore on my prick, eh?”

“Shut up and finish,” Boulatruelle growled again, while a third voice chuckled drily. “Relax, road-mender. The night is young, and that arse won’t run away. Look at him; he’ll still be eager enough for you.”

Helpless, unable to move, Valjean could only passively endure what was being done to him.

With Thénardier’s hot breath coming in gasps against his cheek, the pressure inside him grew nearly unbearable, every slide back and forth making the heat grow until Valjean was wet with sweat, his prick so sensitive that it was almost painful to feel Thénardier’s finger draw over the slick glans again and again.

Everything inside him felt drawn up tight. Even as he was choking on his shame, his eyes burning at the violation of being spread open by Thénardier’s cock, his muscles tensed until he was shuddering blindly, dizzy and near fainting. But instead of blacking out, he felt Thénardier driving harder into him, his fingers coaxing with mocking gentleness until Valjean heard himself moaning again, tears spilling down his cheeks as his unresisting body found a sudden release at Thénardier’s hands.

“There. I told you you’d like my prick.” Thénardier chuckled into his ear.

Valjean moaned again at the biting shame while his traitorous body still clenched around the hard prick, wave after wave of pleasure following the inn-keeper’s possession of him despite his release.

“Maybe I’ll let you have it again tonight,” Thénardier grunted, thrusting harder now, Valjean’s hole submitting to every thrust, allowing the large erection to slide deep into the secret places of his body. “There. There. Now be good. Now—“

With another groan, the inn-keeper’s lips hot and wet against his skin, Thénardier’s hips came forward one final time, the inn-keeper’s balls resting against Valjean’s as Thénardier panted in satisfaction, pulse after pulse of the wet heat of his release filling Valjean.

“God, that was good,” he groaned in satisfaction when he finally moved off.

“Took you long enough,” Boulatruelle grumbled, and that was all the warning Valjean got before a bulky body moved on top of him and a thick erection forced its way inside him.

The road-mender was less talkative than the inn-keeper; even so, his thrusts were more brutal, forcing more tears from Valjean’s eyes as he had to helplessly bear the assault. Even now, although every powerful thrust made his violated hole burn, there was still an insidious pleasure accompanying every new thrust, his cock twitching weakly every now and then.

Once, Valjean thought that the weariness of whatever drug they had given him must have overpowered him; when he resurfaced from darkness, the road-mender was still between his thighs, groaning in satisfaction as he pulled his wet cock from Valjean’s battered hole.

The third pushed him to his stomach with the help of Thénardier, then to his knees.

“Fuck, he’s wet like a woman,” the man cursed as he slid inside, and the men chuckled even as Valjean groaned weakly, his tear-stained face pressed into the dirty sheets as his hole burned around the new intrusion.

Someone was touching his head—Thénardier, by the sound of the low chuckle that followed as fingers stroked through his hair.

“Now make my friend happy,” Thénardier said, “he paid me all of ten francs for the privilege of your hole.”

Another weak moan of humiliation escaped Valjean, even as his body clenched in pleasure around the cock that was pressing down right where heat sprung up inside him. Laughing softly, Thénardier brushed his hair out of his face. “I knew you’d like that. Not much of a gentleman now, are you? But don’t you worry, there’s enough to go around. I have two friends who are sitting in the tap room right now, who like a warm hole after their third bottle of wine. Of course, yours won’t be worth more than a franc by that time, but even a sloppy hole is better than none, eh? And I’m certain it won’t make a difference to you.”

Desperately, Valjean panted for breath. The man behind him was gripping his hips tightly enough to bruise, but Valjean did not even feel it, his entire body wracked by the terrible pleasure building inside him once more.

“Fuck, look at that, your whore is getting hard again, inn-keeper,” the man grunted.

A humiliated moan escaped Valjean when Thénardier’s hand found its way beneath him, grabbing hold of his waking erection.

“Look at that. So small and so insatiable. No wonder you’re so eager,” Thénardier murmured with glee, his thumb pressing possessively against the overly sensitized glans.

Desperate, Valjean moaned as Thénardier rubbed his prick, the pleasure so keen that it was nearly unbearable. No one had ever touched him so before, and now, at Thénardier’s relentless touch, his body convulsed once more in twisted pleasure, his hole pulsing eagerly around the thick shaft violating him as if to draw it even deeper inside.

Distantly, Valjean could hear himself sob, Thénardier’s fingers milking his release from him while the man behind him kept thrusting more rapidly—and then, at last, it was over, his burning hole no longer spread open, and he was allowed to crumple back onto the bed.

“Well worth ten francs, eh?” Thénardier said triumphantly, stroking Valjean’s hair with fingers that were still wet with his own release. 

Then, at last, there came a blessed darkness that was interrupted every now and then by further shades that moved above him, his body forced open and violated until it felt that he had ceased to exist, that all that remained of him was the agony of his pulsing hole and the hot pain of the pricks that filled him, and—even then—the shame at the ember of sickening pleasure inside him that kept burning at every new violation.

When Valjean woke the next day, it was long past noon. His head was aching fiercely, and it was difficult to move. In the light of day, it seemed impossible that the strange happenings of the night had truly come to pass, his mind shying away from half-remembered fragments of lewd touches and insults that made his face burn with shame.

When he made his way into the tap-room at last, the sight of Thénardier made him tremble. Without arguing, he paid the man off, his fingers shaking as he handed over the bank bills while the inn-keeper’s knowing eyes watched him—and then, at last, the nightmare was a thing of the past, and Valjean forced his aching body to walk for as far as it would carry him, Cosette’s tiny hand in his own the only thing that gave him the strength to move forward.

***

It was many years later when Valjean found himself staring at the inn-keeper once more.

Valjean had been lured to the garret of a poor family in the Gorbeau hovel; Cosette had remained at home at the last moment, because Toussaint had come down with a cold, and Cosette had not wanted to leave her alone. Now, as Valjean found himself staring into the calculating eyes of Thénardier once more, he was grateful that she had not accompanied him.

Thénardier as well was alone. The garret was empty; there was no sign of the family which the letter had claimed was in need of his philanthropy. Thénardier had planned this; that much was obvious.

What was to be done? To leave, Jean Valjean thought, his mouth dry as he stared at the features that had looked down at him from so many nightmares. Thénardier was alone; he could not keep Valjean here.

And yet, if he were to run, what then? Thénardier had found him. After all these years, he had found him, and for all that Valjean knew that he had the strength to make his escape, and the money to take Cosette and vanish, for a moment he felt frozen, a strange taste on his tongue and a haze in front of his eyes as he remembered dark shades moving above him.

"You do remember me," Thénardier said. "I thought you would, monsieur."

"You are the inn-keeper," Valjean said tonelessly.

Thénardier's smile widened. "Are you not pleased to see me? I was pleased to see you. I remember our last meeting very fondly."

Cold sweat ran down Valjean's back. He could not move. For a heartbeat, he thought himself transported back to that small room he had rented in Montfermeil, his body aching in strange, inexplicable ways, the sensation of being invaded, put to a use he had been spared even in the galleys...

"I see you remember." There was gloating in Thénardier’s voice. He took a step forward, and Valjean shuddered as the man reached out and rested his hand on his arm.

"I will tell you now how it will be," Thénardier said, using the intimate _tu_ so that Valjean's heart convulsed in shock and humiliation.

"You remember very well; we both know that. I will tell you the truth: at first I thought to send my friends for the Lark, to have them hold her for me until you'd paid me what I asked for. But then I said to myself, why upset the man, why raise a fuss, why involve the girl, when this could be done so much easier? You wouldn't want to cause a disturbance, would you? A man like you, a fine philanthropist--you would not want to lose that disguise. And I tell you now: you won't have to."

Valjean’s throat was dry. He had to swallow before he could speak. "What do you want?"

"Oh, that’s very good." Thénardier’s tone was jovial. "I knew we would understand each other. I'm not asking for very much, after all. I want you to bring me five thousand francs. And in the future, when I send you a letter, I want you to come, and there won't be any mischief, and your daughter will never have to know about any of this. Isn't that a good offer?"

Valjean drew in a shuddering breath. Instinct made him reach into his pocket, even though he knew that he was not carrying such an amount on himself. "I don’t have the money here," he heard himself saying. "If you let me go to fetch it--"

"But how will I know you will keep your promise?" Thénardier came another step forward. Now he was so close that his hot breath ghosted across Valjean's lips, who flinched instinctively.

"I always keep my promise," Valjean said, although the words escaped him in a toneless whisper, his heart racing with sudden dread.

"I know you do." Thénardier sounded conciliatory. "But how can I let you go without proof?"

"I will leave you what I have on me," Valjean said, taking his purse out of his pocket with trembling hands. "I will return in an hour--"

Thénardier shook his head, his smile cruel. "You know how these things are. One does not believe a thief. And you once stole something from me."

"I paid the mother’s debts," Valjean said. "There's nothing you--"

"I want a token. Something that shows me that you mean what you say. Then I will let you go, and one of my friends--someone who is very skilled with his knife--will go with you, and you will both return to me with the money. Do you understand?"

Valjean shook his head, pale, although he was beginning to understand what Thénardier wanted.

"Come now, I know what you are," Thénardier muttered angrily, "and you aren't stupid."

His hand shot out, fisting Valjean's shirt. Then he gave it a harsh yank--and Valjean stumbled down to his knees, breathing heavily.

"There. That is better." Thénardier's hands went to his trouser flap. A moment later, the buttons were unfastened--and Valjean found himself eye to eye with the man's arousal.

The shaft jutted forward, hard with blood and large. Thénardier barely gave him time to take in the sight before his hands were in Valjean’s hair once more.

"Come now. Convince me that you mean your promise. Or have you changed your mind after all? Shall we go and see if we can find the Lark? My friend with the knife has a taste for pretty things, he might--"

As shame and terror flooded through him, Valjean found himself leaning forward.

The first time, there had been the drugs. It had seemed unreal, like a nightmare.

This time, there was no haze that dulled the experience. This time, he had gone to his knees willingly--and had just as willingly leaned forward to hesitantly press his lips to the purple head of Thénardier's arousal.

Thénardier abruptly fell silent. Sick with shame, Valjean forced himself further forward, sliding his lips over the spongy glans until the bulbous head of Thénardier's prick rested on his tongue.

The sensation was strange. He had never done such a thing before--but he had seen enough to know how it happened. Still, even the bagne had not prepared him for how it would feel. Thénardier tasted sharp and bitter, salty fluid leaking onto his tongue as Thénardier's prick gave a little jerk in his mouth.

"Yes. Just like that," Thénardier said breathlessly. "Knew you would do it. You liked it well enough when my prick was up your arse. You remember that, eh?"

Thénardier’s fingers tightened in Valjean’s hair until tears rose up in his eyes, and he had no choice but to lean further forward.

Thénardier was large, and it was difficult to breathe around him. Even so, Valjean forced himself to take more of him in, and in return, Thénardier's fingers relaxed in his hair as the man groaned in approval.

"Just like that," Thénardier gasped. "Knew you'd be good--"

Valjean choked as Thénardier's hips came forward, but as soon as he tried to pull back, the man grabbed hold of his hair once more. His eyes tearing, Valjean tried to breathe around the large shaft. Thénardier moaned, his fingers still keeping a cruelly tight grip on his hair as Valjean struggled to breathe, his jaw aching. Thénardier’s prick was heavy on his tongue. It pushed deeper and deeper into his mouth, rubbing back and forth over his tongue until all Valjean could taste was the bitterness of Thénardier’s arousal, his nose buried in the coarse curls at his groin.

Again Thénardier's fingers tightened against his skull--and then, at last, Thénardier's cock began to jerk, the man's spend hitting the back of his throat so that Valjean painfully swallowed, again and again, trying not to choke on the rush of bitter semen that filled his mouth until he thought he was going to drown.

Finally, Thénardier released him, the man's prick slipping from his mouth. Weakly, Valjean coughed, his eyes still filled by tears. For a moment he could not move; he could only gasp for breath as he rested on his hands and knees, his throat raw and his stomach turning at the taste of Thénardier's release, which still coated his tongue.

Then Thénardier's hand came to rest on his head again, petting him thoughtlessly in the way one might stroke an animal. "There, you see. Now I'm more inclined to believe your promises. And perhaps, the next time I shall send you a letter, we will let your prick out as well. Such a small, sad thing. It knows it’s not meant for fucking. But that doesn't mean that there aren't other ways you can be of use. Isn't that right?"

Valjean swallowed again, Thénardier's semen going down his throat, curdling in his stomach.

"Yes," he said at last, fighting his twisting stomach to keep it down.

Thénardier's smile widened, the man’s teeth gleaming sharply. "I knew you were a smart man. And you will not forget what you promised me, will you? I will see you shortly, and you will bring me a present, and then, perhaps, we will get to know each other better once more. And the Lark won’t ever have to know about any of this. That is how it will be, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Valjean repeated numbly. Then he struggled to his knees, his cheeks wet and his ears ringing, and by the time he had managed to wipe the tears and the remnants of Thénardier’s spend from his face, the man was gone, and a well-dressed youth with sharp, cold eyes had appeared in the doorway.

Valjean could not bear to look at him as he slowly moved past him, but there was no need to. The boy had his orders, and Jean Valjean knew that soon enough, he would see Thénardier once more.


End file.
